Rings of Fire and Stars
by Cloud Clavell
Summary: Due to popular demand, the sequel to Worship. Kisri is back, but what is she up to this time? Read on to find out!
1. Alien Abduction

**ALIEN ABDUCTION**

Ronon Dex was in a considerable amount of pain, and to add insult to injury, he knew that he only had himself to blame for a lot of it.

The manacles around his wrists were sharp, tight and heavy. His fingers weren't numb, but that just meant he could feel his fingers screaming abuse at him and demanding more blood. His arms were cramping from the effort of holding the metal in the air, but if he released the weight the chain linking his wrists to the neck of the man in front of him would pull the poor guy backwards.

They had settled for simple rope around his ankles, but that meant he had to shuffle along in the dirt, stubbing his toes and bruising his feet on rocks. His boots were gone; they had stolen them while he was unconscious, along with his gun, coat, and all the knives they could find, and divvied them up.

The sun was beating down on him like a physical thing. His head was throbbing, his skin was slowly cooking, and the glare meant he had to squint to see.

The injuries that weren't simply things that happened when you were harnessed to a slave chain, barefoot in the desert, were the ones that were his fault. His skin was dappled with bruises, and he wasn't sure that his jaw wasn't broken, or at the very least cracked. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and half of his face was covered with a mask of dried blood from a cut in his scalp. His throat was sore, and he was having trouble breathing. That had been his first injury: he had tried to escape when he thought his captors weren't looking. When it turned out they were–and that they could throw those damned lassoes like nobody's business–he had decided to go out fighting. The slavers had just laughed at him, tightened the lassoes around his neck until he was choking, dragged him back to camp at the end of their ropes, and hobbled his feet.

Initially they had seemed quite impressed. He distinctly heard the words 'fighters fetch more' several times. When Ronon had taken issue with a slaver bothering the woman tethered behind him… well, that was when their moods had shifted for the worse. He had broken the man's nose with a well-aimed head-butt. The man and his friends had beaten him unconscious and possibly cracked his jaw. There was one walking beside him at all times now, looking for an excuse to club him with the butt of the long walking sticks they all carried.

A cry drifted down the line of miserable, cowed humanity. Ronon shuffled to a halt and craned his head, trying to see why they had stopped. The next instant, he received a blow to the ribs that made him wince and hunch slightly. The slaver smirked at him. Normally, Ronon would have taken great pleasure wiping the expression off his face with a handful of rocks, but, mindful of the people chained in front and behind him, he stared back, trying to look meek.

The slaver's face shifted, and he hit Ronon again, this time in the face. "Eyes down," he snarled, before stalking off. Ronon staggered, but didn't fall; the woman behind him reach out quickly and grabbed his elbow to steady him.

"You shouldn't try and fight them," she whispered. It was the first thing she had said to Ronon– despite the fact that he had taken a beating trying to protect her. Not that he minded, or anything.

"I wasn't," Ronon told her through a mouthful of blood.

"Stop making them angry then!"

"I'm not," he growled. The woman shrank back, big dark eyes wide, and Ronon reminded himself with a sigh that she wasn't the one he was angry at. "I'm trying to play along until my friends rescue me."

"Your friends won't find you," the man in front of Ronon said in a voice that sent chills down the Satedan's spine. It was empty of hope, joy, warmth… humanity.

"They will," Ronon said with a certainty born of experience in his voice.

"These slavers belong to the Ghost Market," the man said. "It's called that because when it steals people, they never come back. Your friends can look, but you're as good as dead to them now."

"I've heard of the Ghost Market," Ronon said. "I didn't realise it was a problem. It never was on Sateda."

"You're a Satedan?" The man turned his head, jerking Ronon's hands to the side. "I thought your people were all dead."

"No," Ronon said firmly.

"Your people may be alive, Satedan, but you keep fighting and you won't be," the woman whispered. "Be silent, they're coming back. Look at the ground!"

Ronon quickly dropped his eyes as the slavers stalked past, muttering to each other. "We can escape," he insisted to his neighbours when the slavers were out of earshot. "We can–"

"We can't escape, and even if we could, we're out of time," the woman said in a flat voice. "I heard them talking. There's a ring up ahead. The market is probably just through it."

"Can you reach my hair?" Ronon asked her desperately. He was near the end of the chain; with any luck, it would take some minutes before it was his turn to enter the stargate.

"Yes, of course, but what–"

"There's a knife hidden in it. I need you to pass it to me."

For thirty agonising seconds there was no response. Then, finally, he felt-feather light fingers running over his scalp. "I have it."

"Who hides knives in their hair?" the man in front whispered in disbelief.

"I have enough of it," Ronon grunted in explanation. "You need to lean back."

"Forget it! I'm not getting myself killed!"

"I need to reach behind me," Ronon snarled quietly. "Lean. Back."

Picking up on the dangerous tone, the man silently complied. Ronon reached behind him awkwardly, and the woman pressed the knife into his hands.

Cutting the rope tying his feet was the most difficult feat, but Ronon took care of it first. With the woman holding him steady, it was not as difficult as it could have been. With his feet free in case he had to run, Ronon began steadily working the point of the knife around in the manacle's lock.

"What's your name?" he asked the woman behind him.

"Illa."

"Illa, you need to tell me what's happening."

"Um… people are moving through the ring."

"Is anyone coming our way?"

"Yes, but they're still far away."

"Ok." The manacle clicked and fell open on one wrist. Ronon felt a savage surge of pleasure and began working on the other arm.

"Hurry, one's coming," Illa whispered in fear.

"It's fine," Ronon whispered back, praying it was true. The knife point caught – slipped – caught again – _click!_

Ronon clutched his hands together, holding the manacles in place, and stared at the ground. The slaver reached him, but instead of passing, the man paused. Ronon chanced an upward glance; it was the one whose nose he had broken. He was wearing Ronon's coat.

The man grinned unpleasantly. "How are your feet?"

"How's your face?" Ronon asked. It was a knee-jerk reaction; clearly Sheppard was rubbing off on him.

The man scowled and raised his staff. Ronon's coat pulled back, revealing a primitive gun, like those of the Genii, tucked into the man's belt.

Ronon sprang, arms outstretched, completely forgetting that the collar around his neck was attached to the manacles around Illa's wrists. With a cry, the woman staggered forwards, pulling the slaves behind her along too. Ronon's head jerked back, but his arms, the bane of Atlantis quartermasters when it came to fitting jackets, were long enough to catch Broken-nose by the coat front. Ronon dragged him forwards and plunged the knife into his throat.

The man sunk to his knees, eyes wide with surprise. Ronon pulled the gun from his belt, took aim at a figure running towards the commotion, and fired. "Get the keys from his belt," he rasped to Illa, kicking the body behind him for her to reach. "Unlock your hands!"

Slavers were converging on him from all down the line. Ronon fired, and fired again, not wasting shots. The slavers were reluctant to fire back at first, perhaps not wanting to kill any merchandise, but as three, then four, then five fell to the ground in pools of their own blood, their reservations vanished, and bullets began whistling past Ronon.

The pressure around his neck slackened, and he stepped out of line, away from the other captives. He only had a few more bullets left… he had to make them count.

From the crowd behind him, there was a strangled choking noise in a familiar voice. Ronon turned his head, and, for a fatal moment, froze.

Illa lay on the ground, clutching her chest, red staining her fingers. Her big dark eyes looked up at Ronon in puzzled betrayal. The bullets had missed Ronon, but they hadn't missed altogether.

Ronon shouldn't have kept looking for that extra second. Before Atlantis he wouldn't have. But before Atlantis he had been a step away from sacrificing his humanity and becoming an animal. Sheppard, Teyla and Rodney had shamed him away from that course of action, and so he looked at Illa for just a second too long.

There was a familiar noise, a noise he had heard a million times over. Ronon turned his head just in time to see a streak of orange light come from the gun – _his_ gun – that the leader of the slavers held in both hands. It hit Ronon in the chest.

Ronon had been hit by Wraith stunners before. They felt like you had just been hit with something. This felt like someone had harnessed a bolt of lightning and pressed it to his nervous system.

Trapped in agony, Ronon Dex fell into darkness.


	2. Alone in the Dark

**In which we find out why the hell Ronon's in this situation in the first place.**

**ALONE IN THE DARK**

Three days and four nights. Four nights and three days.

However you looked at it, it was too damn long.

Ronon woke up in the middle of the first night in a cell. His body ached, from the cold and from bruises old and new. At first he worried that he had gone blind, but he quickly realised that it was just dark.

The cell was tiny, not wide enough for him to lie down in without curling into a ball. If he leaned into the corner of the cell and sat down, there was enough room to stretch his legs out diagonally across the floor… barely. The stone was rough, and cold, and he was hungry.

"Hey!" Ronon yelled, pressing his face to the iron bars. "Hey! Hello? Is anyone there?"

Nobody answered. Nobody came. Ronon stood by the door, listening, for hours.

Three days and three nights later, he hadn't seen a living soul. Ronon felt feverish, thirsty. He knew he was dehydrated, and he knew he should feel hungry, but the thought of food made his stomach roll. He shivered and burned, slumped against the rock, in total silence.

Except it wasn't total silence. The cell he was in had moods, he decided, just like a person. At night it creaked and groaned infinitesimally; in the day it expanded in the sunlight, sighing as it did so, as if in relief.

The cell looked out onto a stone passage. There were no windows, in the cell or in the passage, but light filtered down the passage from some far-off point. It allowed Ronon to tell the days from the nights, and to see that the rock forming the building was an insulting shade of pink, some type of sandstone.

Really, wasn't there a law that said jails had to be made of dark, gloomy, threatening rock? A pink jail was just ridiculous.

* * *

On the fourth day, Sheppard came to rescue him.

"Hey buddy."

Ronon's head shot up. Sheppard was standing outside the cell, looking in.

"Sheppard?" Ronon croaked. His body ached from lack of water.

"That's me. You know, you've got a real habit of getting in trouble," Sheppard announced, pacing back and forth in front of him. "First Keturah and his village, they put you in a cage… now this?"

"You gotta let me out," Ronon whispered. At least, he thought he did.

"I don't know, buddy. I mean, people aren't just putting you in a cage for no reason, right? Maybe they've got the right idea. You've caused enough trouble for Atlantis over the years… I'm thinking I'll just leave you here."

"I saved you," Ronon protested weakly. "I'm only here because…" He paused. Why was he here? His memories were falling out of place, blurring and mixing with the nightmares of his Runner days.

"You saved me," Sheppard agreed. "That moron with the noose was a step away from taking me out. Teyla's face is pretty red right now, I can tell you. She never even realised her buddies were slavers."

"I pushed you aside," Ronon mumbled.

"And I got through the gate and you didn't. You know, I do owe you." Sheppard eyed Ronon thoughtfully.

"Get me out."

"Nah."

"But…"

"I'm the only one here, Ronon. Who're they going to believe when I tell them I never found you?"

"Son of a bitch!" Ronon growled, scrambling to his feet. "I'll kill you!"

"Yeah, that's the way to make friends," Sheppard snorted. "Threaten them. I'll see you later, buddy. Or not." His body turned pink as he spoke, gained a texture of rough rock, and before Ronon's eyes, melted backwards to form the wall.

Ronon sank back to the floor, holding in sobs with a mighty effort.

* * *

"You don't look good."

"Go away," Ronon muttered. "Go away."

"…That's it? That's all you've got to say?"

"You're not… you aren't here. Go away."

"Oh." This in a tone of realisation. "I'm here. Open your eyes."

"No."

"Stubborn _insa_. I've got water."

"You don't." Ronon refused to open his eyes. This was a hallucination, just like Sheppard had been. He wouldn't open his eyes.

There was the sound of a single footstep, then, like a slap in the face, a splash of water landed on him. Ronon sat bolt upright, staring out of the cell.

Kisri stood there, holding a small cup in one hand and a water-skin in the other. It was mid-afternoon, and the rosy light in the corridor made her look like she had been carved out of the same pink sandstone that held Ronon.

"Here," Kisri said, pouring water into the cup. "Sip it slowly."

Ronon reached out with shaking hands and accepted the cup through the bars, sipping it slowly as she directed. It was hard: the water felt like the elixir of life as it flowed down his throat.

"You're real," he decided, staring at her.

"I am."

"What are you doing here?" Ronon demanded angrily. "Come to gloat?"

"A little bit," Kisri said, supremely unconcerned. "Do you want more water or not?"

Ronon glowered at her for a moment, then held the cup out reluctantly. Kisri smirked and filled it again. "You look terrible. Have you been making new friends?"

"Where am I?" Ronon asked.

"The Ghost Market."

"The slave market," Ronon murmured, sipping the water. "Why are you here?"

"That's not your concern. You should be more worried about yourself."

"I'll escape. When they sell me, I'll escape."

"They aren't going to sell you." Kisri leaned against the wall and watched him. Feeling at a disadvantage, Ronon shakily pulled himself to his feet. "I heard about your escape attempts. You killed five people and started a riot."

"I must have missed the riot."

Kisri raised an eyebrow at his disappointed tone. "They aren't going to sell you. They're going to execute you as an example to the other slaves."

This was bad. Very, very bad. Ronon stared at her, unable to think of anything to say. "Sheppard," he began, then stopped. Kisri was shaking her head.

"Colonel Sheppard won't find you. Even if he was looking, you'll be killed tomorrow morning. You're out of time, Ronon Dex."


	3. Decoys

**This is for diama56. I just couldn't leave you hanging like that.**

**DECOYS**

_Even if he was looking…_ The casual words, jibing so well with Ronon's first hallucination, made him shiver. "Why are you here?" he repeated.

"I told you, that's-"

"I mean here, talking to me. We thought you were dead."

"Perhaps I was. But now I'm here."

"_Why_ are you here?" Ronon insisted.

Kisri shrugged. "I heard that they had caught a huge crazy man with more hair than sense, and it sounded familiar."

"You did just come to gloat," Ronon said angrily.

"Only for a little bit." Kisri leaned against the wall and watched him through her lashes. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No," Ronon said quickly. Wraith worshipper or not, she was the first person he had seen in four days, and she had just given him life-saving water.

"Do you remember your debts, Ronon Dex?" Kisri asked abruptly.

"I don't owe you anything."

"But if you did?" she insisted. "If you did owe me something?"

"I'd kill you quickly."

Kisri laughed. "A few cups of water and you're ready to kill me. Tomorrow morning ought to be amusing."

"You'll watch me die?"

"Of course. How else will I know that you're dead?"

Ronon sank back down in stunned silence. Kisri waited expectantly for a few moments, then frowned. "That was easier than I thought it would be. Have you really given up?"

Ronon mumbled something. Kisri frowned. "I can't hear you."

Without looking up, Ronon mumbled it again. Kisri rolled her eyes and stepped up to the bars. "I can't _hear_ you, Satedan."

Ronon exploded to his feet and lunged for her, his hands reaching through the bars. Kisri skittered back, eyes wide. The tips of his fingers brushed the front of her coat, but she was too fast, and he was too slow from dehydration.

The tableau was frozen for several moments, Kisri pressed against the wall, Ronon pressed against the bars. Suddenly, Kisri began to laugh. "Well done, Ronon Dex. But not done well enough."

Ronon, his teeth baring in his best feral grin, relaxed his body and said, "Next time it will be."

Kisri smiled at him. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, Ronon Dex." She dropped the waterskin to the floor and kicked it across the passageway to him, then turned and sauntered off down the corridor, humming to herself.

* * *

They came for Ronon at dawn. Six men, all well-armed, well-fed, and well-rested. He didn't resist; what was the point? The expected last-minute rescue hadn't come, and now a strange lethargy was stealing over his mind.

They led him from the cell, and down the corridor. There was a thick wooden door at one end; he stepped through it.

A hot, dry wind struck him in the face. He winced and lifted a hand to shield his eyes. The sunlight was reflecting off low, pink and white buildings, carved from the same rough sandstone as his cell. There was a large space in front of him, filled with pens. Inside the pens, people: men, women, and children of all ages, watching him with wide eyes and dead faces.

The Ghost Market.

His captors joined up with a dozen others, and forced him through the slave market. Ronon stumbled forwards, head down, eyes fixed on the dirt. His head was swimming, and his body was so, so heavy. He had never realised how heavy it was.

A platform appeared before him, and he made his way up the stairs. A slaver struck him behind the legs with a spear, forcing him to his knees.

"What are you going to do to me?" Ronon asked finally through a floppy tongue and thick, dry lips. The slaver laughed.

"You'll be set free. Isn't that what you wanted? Free as a bird."

They tied Ronon's hands, and placed a rope around his neck. Ronon's eyes slid closed against the glare, and he didn't bother opening them again. Why watch them watch him die?

The slavers forced him to his feet, and led him over to a trapdoor. It was set below what looked like a door frame: two uprights and a vertical beam laid across the top. Ronon stood there, eyes still closed, listening as they tossed the rope around his neck over the horizontal beam. There was silence, then a count-down began.

"Five…"

_The number of days I've been here…._

"Four."

_The number of nights…_

"Three."

_The number of friends I thought I had…_

"Two."

_The number of places I've called home…_

"One."

_The number of things that I regret._

With an anticlimactic creak, the trapdoor dropped open below him, and Ronon fell through.

**Short one, I know. Don't worry… no character death in this story. Tune in next week for how he escaped!**


	4. Alien Resurrection

**ALIEN RESURRECTION**

Ronon Dex could hear rain.

He was lying on something soft, but beneath it he could feel a rough surface. With a mighty effort, he forced his eyes open and raised his head.

He was in a cave, lying some metres back from the entrance. Someone had placed him on a thin blanket. At the entrance of the cave, he could see Kisri, sitting and watching the rain fall outside.

"I didn't expect to wake up," he croaked.

Kisri didn't look at him. "I didn't expect you to stay awake for so long. You were meant to be found dead in your cell before they had a chance to hang you."

"What happened?" Ronon asked, struggling to his feet. He felt listless and floppy – much the same way he had before the hanging, he realised.

"They hanged you. Except somehow the beam holding the rope up broke."

"What?" Ronon asked, confused.

"The beam. The one they threw the rope across. Somehow it broke. Snapped clean off the rest of the gallows."

"Somehow, huh?" Ronon _was _slightly curious to know how she had pulled that off, but if she didn't want to tell him specifics, he wouldn't pester her for him.

"Oh yes. Really, the entire scaffold just broke apart. When they cleared the wreckage away and found your body, you were dead. They decided you were hit on the head by some wood."

"What was I really?" Slowly Ronon walked up to sit by her in the cave mouth. They were halfway up a hillside, looking out onto a cloudy sky and a lush, verdant forest below.

The corners of Kisri's mouth quirked upwards. "Drugged."

"The water you brought me?"

"Yes. They buried you. I dug you up and brought you here."

Ronon stiffened. Being buried alive was his worst nightmare. When an alien doppelgänger had invaded his dreams and buried him alive in the form of Sheppard, it had been weeks before he had slept through an entire night. "Where are we?" he demanded now, trying to put it aside.

"A different planet entirely. The Ghost Market thinks you're dead. They won't be looking for you now." Kisri tilted her head and regarded him expectantly.

"Why did you help me?" Ronon said finally.

"To see if I could," Kisri said loftily.

"You didn't go to all that effort because it was a challenge," Ronon said, shaking his head. "What do you want, Kisri?"

"What makes you think I want anything?"

"Why are you dodging the question?" Ronon demanded, frustrated.

"Because right now I don't know what my answer is," Kisri said in an odd voice.

Ronon stared at her. She almost sounded… sad. "What's wrong with you?"

A moment later he wished he had phrased it better. Kisri laughed a hard laugh and said, "Nothing. Nothing is wrong with me."

"Look, I meant–"

"What? What did you mean?" Kisri whirled on him fiercely. Ronon sighed.

"Nothing. Never mind." Never before had Ronon wished more strongly that he were Teyla. Teyla knew how to talk to people. Teyla wouldn't have made her close up again like that.

"You want to know why I saved you?" Kisri demanded, advancing on him. "I saved you because I need someone to watch behind me while I watch ahead."

"You want me for your partner?" Ronon couldn't believe his ears.

"I thought I did. Now I'm beginning to doubt myself."

"I will never work with a Wraith worshipper," Ronon snarled, gratitude forgotten.

Kisri smiled a silky smile. "It isn't up to you. You were unconscious for two days, Ronon Dex."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Check your arm."

Ronon hesitated, then did so. There was a small red mark there, like the ones that appeared when he had gotten an injection from one of the Atlantis medics.

Son of a bitch…

"What did you do to me?" he demanded, advancing.

Kisri held up a small, thin, round machine the size of her palm. "It's a nanovirus." She said the words carefully in a way that made Ronon sure that she was repeating something she had been told. "Tiny little machines, running through your body."

"What does it do?" Ronon grated.

"It takes over your mind." She raised her chin and stared him in the eye. "If I press the button, your personality will be erased. You'll become a drone, one that does whatever I tell it to."

Ronon felt sick. "How could you do that to another human being?"

"We've had this conversation," she told him patiently. "I have as much regard for humans as you do for the Wraith."

"Oh yeah? Then why am I still me? Why haven't you used that device to wipe away who I am?" Ronon snarled.

"Don't test me." Kisri stared at him. "I don't really like the idea, but like I said, I need someone to work with. If you cooperate then I'll let you go. If you don't cooperate, then you'll help me anyway."

"I don't have a choice, do I?" Ronon growled.

"You have a choice. You do it or you don't. But please remember, it will be done."

Ronon badly wanted to punch her, but he kept his temper under control and clenched his fists instead. "Fine. What are we doing, exactly?"

"I'll tell you later," Kisri told him.

"Afraid I'll say no?" Ronon asked, his voice laden with contempt. "What will you tell me to do, kill someone?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not."

Ronon stared at her for a few moments. "Do you have any water that won't put me in a coma?" he said finally.

Kisri blinked, turned, and slowly bent to pick up a waterskin. Ronon struck, his hand shaped into a blade aimed straight at her neck. Kisri dropped to the ground and rolled out of reach, a knife appearing in one hand and the nanovirus remote in the other. Ronon lunged forwards again, batted the knife to the side, seized the remote from her hand and drove his elbow savagely into her collarbone, forcing her to the ground with a gasp of pain. Clutching the remote, he sprinted from the cave into the rain.

* * *

Kisri groaned and ran a tentative hand over her collarbone, then, reassured it wasn't broken, reached into a pocket on the inside of her shirt and pulled out the real remote. It lit up obligingly; she tapped a few commands in and sauntered from the cave in a relaxed manner.

She found Ronon Dex almost five hundred metres from the cave, sprawled in a bed of ferns. His eyes were open, staring at the sky. His chest rose. He was alive.

"You stupid, stupid man," Kisri said softly, sinking to her haunches. "Why couldn't you just have said yes?"

Ronon Dex didn't blink. He was gone.


	5. The Hidden

**THE HIDDEN**

"_Incoming wormhole!"_

Mr Woolsey stepped up to the balcony and watched as a shimmering pool of liquid light grew in the heart of the stargate. "Any identification yet?"

"_It's Colonel Sheppard's team, sir."_

"Lower the shield."

A moment later, Colonel Sheppard, Teyla Emmagan and Doctor Rodney McKay stepped out of the gate, followed by Major Evan Lorne and a squad of marines. From the way they walked, Woolsey could tell that they were all very, very tired.

He leaned over the balcony railing silently. Sheppard looked up, met Woolsey's eyes, and shook his head.

Woolsey felt his shoulders slump. "I'm going to debrief," he said to Amelia over his shoulder. "Let me know if a catastrophe occurs in the next ten minutes."

"Yes sir," she said seriously. Woolsey smiled sadly at her. She and Ronon Dex, warriors both, had been good friends since Michael's invasion of Atlantis.

Sheppard, Lorne, Teyla and McKay were waiting for him in the conference room. Woolsey walked in slowly, sat down, and tried not to sigh. He was tired. God, he was tired.

"Did you find anything?"

"We did not," Teyla said.

Woolsey liked Teyla. She was diplomatic, friendly, and easy on the eyes. Now her face was lined with sorrow and her eyes were full of fear.

"Nothing?" he insisted. "Nothing at all? Not one clue?"

"The Recans didn't know where he might be and they didn't know who might have taken him. The whole mission was a bust." McKay folded his arms. "It's been over two weeks. What are we meant to do next?"

"We aren't going to stop looking, Rodney," Sheppard said fiercely. With dark circles under his eyes and deep lines carved into his face, it was clear Sheppard was exhausted. However, Woolsey had come to know this man well. Ronon Dex had been taken saving his life. That guilt was spurring him forwards ruthlessly, even when he should really stop and rest.

"I know that, but we need a plan."

"We have a plan. Ask people what they know."

"Ok, we need a plan that doesn't revolve around dumb luck."

"If you've got any ideas, now would be a good time to speak up. Six days ago would have been a _better_ time, but I'm willing to make allowances." Sheppard's voice was full of a dangerous edge that made Woolsey want to step back and reach for some body armour, but McKay's ego was apparently armour enough. The scientist _shrugged._

"Look, I don't know, alright? Slavers would want to stay out of sight, they'd probably need an uninhabited planet…" Rodney rubbed his eyes. "I don't know what else, but that's too many options. We need to find someone who knows what to look for to narrow down the search."

"It isn't likely we're going to find anyone who's going to confess that they're a slaver," Lorne pointed out.

"Have you tried our sociologists?" Woolsey suggested. "They might have some suggestions."

"McKay and the sociologists don't get on," Sheppard said briefly.

"Well why not?" Woolsey asked - against his better judgement.

"Because sociology is not a science. It is guesswork mixed in with the study of history and a healthy dose of belief in conformity," McKay said, gesturing dramatically. "It is not a science, it is a hoax that denies the existence of individuality, and I fully intend to keep treating it as such!"

"I see," Woolsey said slowly. "Teyla."

"Yes?"

"Could you talk to the sociologists and get their feedback please?"

"Yes." Teyla's lips creased in a slight smile.

"I think Doctor McKay is right," Woolsey continued. "We don't know what we're looking for, and we're wasting time and manpower doing it."

"We aren't giving up!" Sheppard insisted.

"I agree, Colonel, but honestly… I just don't know what else to do." He met Sheppard's eyes squarely. They held it for a few moments, then Sheppard's gaze wavered, dipped, and dropped to the ground.

"I know that this is not what you want to hear, but Ronon has proven himself to be a survivor. We must continue to hope for the best. For now, get some rest. All of you. Dismissed."

Woolsey waited until they were out of the room, then sunk into a chair, thinking. He liked Ronon Dex; the man was honest, straight-forward and exactly the kind of guy you wanted on your team if you had to go up against an evil life-sucking space vampire. At the same time, Sheppard and his team were flailing in the dark, and Woolsey didn't want them to disturb anything's slumber.

They needed a plan of action.

**I know, a bit of a filler chapter, but I thought you all might be interested in knowing what Atlantis is up to in the meantime. Next chapter things start to come together. **


	6. Abbot and Costello Go to Mars

**Just in case you've forgotten, ****_Kish'Kirin _****is Kisri's name for Todd.**

**ABBOTT AND COSTELLO GO TO MARS**

Kisri stepped out of the stargate warily and looked around. Ronon, beside her, snorted.

"People live here? This place looks deserted."

"The people here are shy," she said absent-mindedly, crouching to look at the ground. "Does this look like a boot print to you?"

Ronon didn't bother kneeling. "Yeah. Human, male, limps. Why did we come here, again?"

Kisri frowned and rose. "_Kish'Kirin_ heard news that _Shasan_ is on this planet, remember?"

It sounded vaguely familiar. "Right." She had told him. _Shasan_ was the one they were trying to find. _Kish'Kirin_ was the one they were trying to find him for. He remembered.

The village didn't look as if people lived there. This planet was hot, and there seemed to be too much moisture in the air. Ronon took a deep breath, feeling his lungs protest, and looked at Kisri for directions.

"There's an old laboratory in those mountains," Kisri announced, pointing. "Come. It will take us some time to reach them."

"Your _Kish'Kirin_ couldn't get us a ship?" Ronon grumbled.

Kisri's head whipped around. "What do you know of ships, Ronon Dex?"

Ronon shrugged. "I know that they exist."

"Have you ever seen one?"

Ronon thought for a moment. "No. But I know they exist."

"Well, we do not have them," Kisri said snippily. "And even if we did, this task is a secret."

"This task is a pain in the ass." He couldn't remember where he had heard that expression either, but it felt familiar on his tongue. Kisri stared at him for a moment longer, before turning back to the forest.

They set off through the dense undergrowth. It was slow growing: the trees here were tall, with thick root systems. They had to pick their way over the knobbly, uneven ground.

Kisri stumbled and Ronon quickly grabbed her arm to steady her. She looked up with eyes like the sky and nodded. "_Shiska._"

Ronon looked back at her, not releasing her arm, but not really holding it anymore either. Kisri opened her mouth, then cast her eyes to the side and gently pulled her arm from Ronon's grasp, not looking at him. He accepted it stoically and followed her through the trees.

* * *

_Kisri entered the chamber alone. _Kish'Kirin _kept other worshippers on his ship, but Kisri had found recently that she suddenly seemed to dislike them all intensely. _

_The fact that this had happened after her adventure with the Lanteans was something she refused to acknowledge._

Kish'Kirin_ was angry, his back stiff, his eyes tight. Kisri stepped into the chamber, and he dismissed the guards with a hiss. The drones left the room without a backward glance. Despite herself, the worshipper tensed, trying to remember if she had done anything to offend _Kish'Kirin_ lately._

_"I am betrayed," he hissed._

_Kisri relaxed. Not angry at her, then. "Who?"_

_This had happened before. _Kish'Kirin_ was a brilliant tactician, but ironically, that paid against him. Many of his underlings seemed not to see how his plans unfolded, or even that they did, and instead demanded instant, brutal action. Kisri found it mildly amusing that a species that lived forever were so impatient._

_"One of my scientists." _Kish'Kirin's _hand clenched. "He has taken the Ancient device."_

_Kisri's eyes widened. "The power source?"_

_"Find him," _Kish'Kirin_ snarled. "Find him and bring him to me."_

_Kisri thought for a moment. She had tracked people before. It was all about smiling prettily while asking questions, and having a knife handy just in case she had to resort to plan B._

_"I will." She relaxed and began thinking. "He will not take it to another hive. Not immediately. He stole it with the intention of using it for something."_

Kish'Kirin _was either following her train of thought closely, or he had already thought of this already. "He will need a laboratory."_

_"Do you have a list of planets with abandoned facilities?" Kisri asked._

_"You will have it." _Kish'Kirin _cocked his head. "You will need another to help you."_

_"I won't." Kisri's voice was flat and steady. _

_"Should you fail out of heedless pride–"_

_"That's the thing. If I fail, it'll be because of pride. If I take another worshipper along, we'll fail because of incompetence."_

Kish'Kirin_ laughed slightly. "Do as you see fit. But if you fail, it will be your life to return to me."_

_"I don't fail," Kisri said coolly._

Kish'Kirin _actually smiled at her. "The day you do is the day you do not return."_

* * *

Ronon led the way. Kisri watched him move through the trees, caught herself admiring the way the dappled sunlight turned his skin an odd shade of bronze, and mentally slapped herself in the face.

She wasn't some blushing girl-child. She had loved and lost before… why was he doing this to her?

A surge of guilt welled up. This wasn't his fault. This was hers. She should have dug him up and left him to make his own way back to Atlantis. She should never have brought him along. She should never have used the device. She should have known it would come to that, if she tried to bring him with her.

She had known it would come to that.

She had used it anyway.

"Are you alright?" Ronon's voice broke in on her musings.

"I'm fine," she sighed.

"Really?"

"Sure." He had apparently decided it was time for a break, and she couldn't disagree: they had been walking for hours. She settled onto a mossy tree root that was really only big enough for one, but didn't complain when Ronon perched on it as well.

"What's wrong?" he insisted.

"It's nothing of importance," Kisri said abruptly.

"If I'm hunting something, I don't want to worry about who's watching my back," Ronon said warningly.

"I'm watching your back!" Kisri protested. Her face flushed as she remembered watching his back… and his legs… and the area in between, especially. Embarrassed, she continued, "If you've got a problem with me, you take the rear."

"I'm the better tracker," Ronon said, dismissing the subject.

They lapsed into silence for a moment. Then, abruptly, he asked, "Have I ever been in a blue city?"

Kisri's ears pricked upright. "A blue city?"

"Yes. A city surrounded by water, with blue walls."

Yes, you have. "No, you haven't. Why do you ask?"

"I keep thinking about it."

"Maybe you dreamed about it."

"I don't dream about cities, I dream about stars."

"That means you're a warrior." Kisri spoke without thinking, her mind still turning over Ronon's words. "My mother always said that stars are the spirits of warriors, watching the world for a battle good enough to return for."

It was the wrong thing to say. Memories of her mother, her father, her village, her past, fell into her mind like a boulder into a pond, disturbing her peace entirely. Ronon looked at her, alarmed, as she bounded to her feet and began to pace.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine!"

"Are you _crying_?"

"We're moving on," Kisri snarled. "_I'm _going first."

Bewildered, Ronon fell into place behind her, trying to work out what he had said. He kept his eyes on the ground, as well as scanning the surrounding forest, but there were no fresh tracks to be seen.

Suddenly Kisri spoke. "Ronon!"

Ronon sprang forwards to behold a very odd, and yet familiar, sight. It was a triangular metal ship, dull, buried nose-first in some bushes. A long, scraped path and considerable damage to the ship indicated that the landing had been of the 'crash' variety.

"_Kish'Kirin_ was right," Kisri murmured. "_Shasan _is here." She turned to Ronon, thankfully back to normal. "Time to get to work, Ronon Dex."

Ronon smiled a hunter's smile at her. She smiled back, but in her sky-blue eyes, sadness still lurked.

**Uh-oh, Kisri's starting to crack...**


	7. Explorers

**EXPLORERS**

John Sheppard didn't dream.

It wasn't something he had ever brought up, but he just… didn't dream. They didn't come to him. The affair with the alien doppleganger had been the first time in his life something had happened to him in his sleep and that had been a large part of what had freaked him out so much: completely apart from the fact that he had had an alien in his head, he just didn't know what a dream was.

He didn't need dreams at the moment. His life was a nightmare.

With a distinct lack of ideas on where to look, Woolsey had started sending his team on ordinary missions. He hadn't been so tactless as to suggest that they think about choosing someone to replace Ronon, but it couldn't be far away. There was no trace of the big man, and it had been too long for him to keep his hopes up.

And it was all his own stupid fault.

If he had been faster…smarter…_better._ The shrinks had told him not to blame himself, but John Sheppard was a realist: it was nobody's fault but his own.

The world they were on was a small trading one. Nobody really lived here, but people came from far and wide to display their goods, and get the best price for them. This was not really a mission, per se; Teyla had come to secure a supply of seeds for the biology department. Apparently their tolerance for saline in the ground was so high, they could be watered directly from the ocean if need be. Woolsey had expressed great interest in the plants.

Rodney hadn't bothered to come, but Sheppard was… actually kind of enjoying himself. The agriculture section of the market was tame compared to the rest of it, but even here, there were flowers as large as plates, and vines that swayed in the gentlest breeze, giving the impression that they were alive. He was considering a bunch of rose-like blossoms in shades of blue and purple, debating whether to present them to Amelia as a gift to cheer her up, when Teyla tapped him on the shoulder.

"it is done, John."

"You got them?"

"Yes. Only a small supply, but apparently they are quite prolific in the right soil." She showed him the small bag.

"That'll make Woolsey happy." John decided against the dusk-coloured roses, and stepped away from the stall quite quickly. In doing so, he bumped straight into a man who had just purchased a tiny bouquet from the stall. The pretty flowers fell to the ground. John swooped down and scooped them up before it could be stepped on.

"Sorry," he told the man.

"It's fine," the man – more a young boy, really – said breathlessly. "Thank you."

John, about to hand the bouquet over, froze. The boy was wearing a familiar gun on his hip.

One moment, the boy was looking puzzled, trying to work out why this stranger wasn't returning his flowers. The next, he looked terrified; the stranger had pinned him to the table with a gun at his throat.

"That gun," Sheppard said, his voice frightening in its intensity. _"Where did you get it?"_

"What?" the boy yelped.

"Where did you get that gun?" He had no reason to believe it was Ronon's; the boy could just be a Traveller youth. But deep down in his heart, he knew that it was his missing friend's weapon.

"There's a stall, two aisles down," the boy babbled. "They're selling machines, this was there, I bargained most of my money for it!"

Sheppard hauled the boy to his feet by his collar and began dragging him through the market. "Show us."

The boy led them to the stall and pointed at it with trembling fingers. "Th-there. The one with the red cloth."

"This wasn't theirs to sell," Teyla told him gently, removing the gun from his belt. "I am sorry."

"You can have the flowers, though," Sheppard grunted, realising they were still clutched in his fist.

The boy accepted them, but didn't move. "You are free to go," Teyla hinted.

The boy shook his head. "Your friend crushed my flowers. I need my money back to buy some new ones for…" he blushed. "Someone."

"Young love," Sheppard said dryly. "Isn't it beautiful. Excuse me –" This to the man behind the weapon's counter. "Where did you get this gun?"

"If you don't want to buy something, move along," the stall keeper snarled. He was a large man, the same height as Sheppard, but twice his weight, and his mean expression indicated that he was used to having his way.

Sheppard looked at Teyla, shook his head, then drove his fist into the merchant's nose. As the brute fell back, he vaulted the counter and crouched next to the man. Teyla quickly took up a position covering John's back.

"So," he said conversationally. "Where did you get this gun? Before you answer, I feel it's only fair I let you know, I'm not a happy guy at the moment. Usually I am. And I _want_ to be a happy guy. So, I figure, I'll do whatever I can to become happy again as soon as possible. You want to help me be happy again? All I want is the address of the planet where you got this gun, and the name of the guy that gave it to you."

"It's… it's called Kardan," the man said, thoroughly spooked by the manic gleam in Sheppard's eye. "The guy who sold it to me was called Rimo. He's a… well, he's a trader."

"He is a slave trader?" Teyla asked, to clarify.

"Well… yes."

"Good." John patted the guy's cheek. "See how easy that was?"

"You're going away?" the man asked hopefully.

"Yep."

As they sauntered away from the stall, John muttered to Teyla, "Bets on how long it takes him to work out I picked his pocket?"

There was an enraged bellow behind him. John caught sight of the boy whose flowers he had ruined, winked, and tossed him the wallet. The boy grinned and tapped his chest in return.

"We have somewhere to look, Teyla," he said with a huge grin. "This is _good._"


	8. Enemy Mine

**Enemy Mine**

With the crashed ship acting better than a beacon, it took Ronon scant moments to find the tracks leading away from it. He and Kisri ghosted purposefully through the forest in silence, eyes wide, ears wider, following the tracks of the Wraith they were hunting. They led to the base of a black cliff, specifically, to a hole cut into the face of it. Kisri and Ronon retreated several metres and held a brief council of war.

"We should bring reinforcements," Ronon advised. "That cave looks like it was designed to be a trap."

"The question is…" Kisri's voice trailed off as she turned ideas over in her mind. "I don't know whether we'll be able to contact _Kish'Kirin_ in time," she continued briskly, "and I don't want him to get away while we're trying. I think if we move quickly enough we can reach him before–"

A familiar whine reached her ears, and without needing to be told, Ronon ducked down underneath the cover of a large fern. Kisri followed suit, and they watched as three more darts flew overhead.

There was no doubt about it: they were heading for the cave.

Kisri spent the next few seconds indulging in some highly creative cursing, partly from rage, partly to distract herself from the fact that their meagre concealment meant she was pressed up tightly against Ronon. "That smooths it," she told him finally. "We need to cripple either those darts or the gate. We cannot let them leave the planet."

Ronon nodded, once. "Let's do this, then."

"Ronon," Kisri began.

"Yes?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

"Kisri, we can't go into this if you aren't focused," Ronon chided her.

"Focus yourself!" she replied with spirit.

Ronon grinned. "I am focused. This is what I'm good at."

A surge of misery rose in Kisri's chest, choking her for a moment. She looked away and pulled her gun. "Fine," she said crisply.

"Are you alright?" Ronon asked slowly.

"I'm fine." Her voice was icy. "Let's go."

"No."

Kisri paused. "Excuse me?"

"I'm not going in there if you can't keep your mind straight," Ronon announced.

"This is not a negotiation," Kisri began.

"No, it's a fight, and we're going to lose it if you can't get your head in the game," Ronon snapped.

Kisri looked down, looked up, and shook her head. Then she ran.

This solved nothing. There was nowhere to go. He could run faster than her. She was going to break her ankle. It didn't matter; she had to get _away._

Strangely enough, Ronon didn't catch up to her. She ran for what seemed like hours before she finally slowed to a stop by the bank of a wide, lazy river. A group of large rocks littered the ground. She sat down, and sank her head into her hands.

The river chuckled past, and she found herself listening for the voices that had been in the water of her planet. There was nothing: just the mindless babble of water on rocks, like crowds of people rushing towards something.

She heard nothing, but suddenly Ronon was crouching beside her, one hand resting on her shoulder. "Kisri?"

She would have liked to say that she stood gracefully, but the truth that is she lunged to her feet like she was about to tackle him. Ronon took a step backwards, but he should have taken two: before she really knew what was going on, Kisri found herself kissing him.

They stood there for eternity. Kisri felt his startled hesitation, felt it pass. His arms wrapped around her and she revelled in the feeling of standing there, in his arms, protected and still.

The river faded. The wind died. His arms tightened, and something hard dug into Kisri's chest, right above her heart.

Kisri stepped back.

"I can't do this anymore," she whispered helplessly.

Ronon stepped forwards, even more confused than he had been before, if that was possible. "Kisri, that–" His voice was slightly rough, but it sent shards of pain through her heart.

"Stop," Kisri announced. Ronon stopped and looked at her carefully, his eyes sharpening with worry.

Kisri looked at him and blinked away a tear.

"Go home, Ronon Dex," she told him.

"I don't–"

Kisri pulled the controller from her jacket and began entering a command. The controller protested, telling her that her request was invalid. Kisri thought for a moment, then tapped something else. There was a happy beeping noise, and Ronon froze, his face losing expression, his hands falling limp by his sides.

Kisri reached out and tucked the controller in his belt, looking up at his empty face for the final time. "Go home," she whispered, then turned and began the long trudge back to the cave where the Wraith she was hunting were hidden. Behind her, Ronon turned and began to walk towards the stargate.


End file.
